


Skipping Stone

by Sketch



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Gen, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 06:02:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sketch/pseuds/Sketch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maglor on the shores of Lake Mithrim. Drabble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skipping Stone

**Author's Note:**

> Written because Maglor is my darling and deserves more fandom attention. I'm clearly mimicking Frank Herbert's writing style. Don't hold that against me.

His thumb brushes over the smooth, sun-warmed stone, wiping off tiny particles of dirt from its surface. It has been so long since he's done this. He wonders, does he still have the skill?

Macalaurë has always enjoyed the water. Yes, he wasn't Teleri, and yes, the Noldor weren't exactly Ulmo's favorite, but the sea has a music of its own, and any musician has respect for it. He vaguely remembers a story Amil had once told him when he was small, about how the music of the Ainur still echoed in the crashing waves, in the silvery trickles, in the constant motion of the sea. 

Because he spent so much time wandering the beaches in Aman, clever ears tuned acutely into the water's melody, he had picked up an interesting talent. Curvo had always scoffed, calling Macalaurë a show-off, and condemning stone skipping as a waste of time. Turko, as usual, agreed with Curvo -- the two were practically inseparable. Ambarussa, however, were enthralled by the trick, and had begged Macalaurë teach them. And he'd tried, though the twins, especially Telvo, were too easily distracted to ever master the skill.

Macalaurë winces, shakes himself free from the memories. The grief of losing his youngest sibling is still too near. 

He tosses the stone in the air, catches it. Then, with a hand that is less than steady, flings it out across Lake Mithrim. It sails through the air, splashes into the water, and is no more. 

Macalaurë sighs, turns his back to the lapping waves. 

His petty talent for stone skipping isn't the only thing he has lost because of the Oath.


End file.
